


I Follow Fires

by busyyhead



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bodily Fluids, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Grooming, M/M, Manipulation, Older Man/Younger Man, Politics, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28861224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busyyhead/pseuds/busyyhead
Summary: Aegon Targaryen is saved on the night his mother and sister die. Tywin Lannister keeps him at his side.
Relationships: aegon targaryen/tywin lannister
Kudos: 26





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a self-indulgent story I've been writing for a while. I didn't want to put this very problematic (?) rarepair into archive of our own because this is just for fun, but here we are.
> 
> please read the tags. this story is going to be pretty disturbing.

The hour is late. Silence stretches like a canopy over everything as he watches darkness fall from the edge of his balcony. Cool air brushes around his bare ankles and tickles over the hairs on his arms, but he pays it no mind as he enjoys the fresh air and peace.

The war is over. His grandson did not destroy the city with his madness, and his daughter did not topple it with the whims of her impudent boy. The legacy that he spent a lifetime protecting and climbing to bring to this position is secure. He only strives for what's important now, and only that.

“You'll catch a cold, sitting out here.”

The quiet set of footsteps behind him is not entirely unexpected, or the capable hands draping a sheet from his bed over his shoulders.

“It's not that cold,” he says, knowing full well that spending the night out here could mean hypothermia come morning, pulling the sheet tighter to face to chill.

“You should be careful. The last thing I need is anyone seeing you.”

The boy hums softly, settling down on the chair next to Tywin just the same, legs spread.

“Of course, My Lord. No one saw me.”

For someone so brazen in his public displays of himself that Tywin has grown tired of it, Aegon Targaryen is even more brazen in private.

His robe gapes to show his chest, the corded muscles in his arms tensing as he brushes hair out of his eyes. It's the familiar velvety brown that verges on blackness in just the right light, and watching him is hypnotic, but not in the way it is when he opens his eyes and Tywin isn't able to look away. Aegon only ever does it when the two of them are alone. When he wants Tywin to see them and relive the past. When he wants him to relive _that_ memory again.

 _Did you look into my sister's eyes when you had your men kill her_?

The night Tywin took everything that belonged to him.

But the past is the past. Tywin used to think Aegon a critical component in ensuring the defeat of the only remaining Targaryen. The Targaryens have always been a force to be reckoned with. He'd suspected that they would survive, or they wouldn't, and Aegon Targaryen would remain by Tywin's side until then.

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm your primary guard, or have you forgotten?”

Tywin glances at him from the corner of his eyes. The boy's smile edges into something sharp, asserting.

“It would be a failure in my duty to leave you unguarded. That's why I'm here, My Lord.”

“You can stop that. I've told you that I don't need a guard in my personal chambers. Certainly not in your present state.”

Not that he needs one. He never has. He has never been weak. Many would take the opportunity to attack what they thought of as an old man, but Tywin had made himself into a man no one would ever dream of attacking. So Aegon's presence in his chambers at his side is only an excuse.

Aegon shrugs his shoulders, perfectly aware.

“I was concerned.”

“And I believe I've told you that your only concern should be the Targaryen girl across the sea. She's going to come for us one day, and then what will you do?”

“Are _you_ concerned?”

Tywin looks at him properly now. He assesses how easily Aegon talks about the topic of his relative. He doesn't even flinch at the mention of the terrific implications.

“She's not something that can't be handled when the time comes.”

“She was right on the verge of sailing across the Narrow Sea the last time we heard of her.”

Aegon's mouth curls into a smile.

“And when the time comes I'll bring you her head, as I vowed I would.”

“So you say.”

Tywin turns away from him again, but there's no missing the wide smile on the boy's face or the way he laughs, head back and mouth open.

“You still don't believe I can? I'm a Targaryen too, you know.”

“I'll believe it when you manage to succeed. And not just 'a' Targaryen,” Tywin scoffs. “Don't think me so undiscerning.”

Aegon's lips lift up into a grin.

”True. I don't think you would share your bed with a man you detest.”

The boy reclines back in his chair, and Tywin looks at him again, at the slender, pale skin of the Targaryen who has been by his side for longer than he could have expected, longer than he cares to think about now. He watches as the boy tips his head back to face the cool breeze, pale lashes fluttering as he closes his eyes. As if he has no concerns in the world. Like all of this is easy and unimportant to him.

“Some guard you are, enjoying yourself like this.”

Relaxed like this, he is probably the most beautiful boy Tywin has ever seen.

He curses himself.

Aegon Targaryen is a perfect image of his linage. With the violet eyes of all Targaryen and sharp cheekbones, he looks like a walking memorial. As far as Tywin remembers, he looks nothing like Rhaegar, but that is purely a matter of his age. All the Targaryen Tywin cares to remember have been pretty. His face holds a feminine beauty that Tywin would categorize to an young girl than a boy, and after a few cups of wine Tyrion would even swear there was a hint of breasts on the boy's chest, to the boy’s amusement and Tywin’s absolute disdain. He has grown up into a man people would beg just to spit into their mouths, and Tywin doesn't blame them.

Aegon must feel him staring, because he opens his eyes and tilts his head to meet Tywin's gaze. His smile edges back to sharp instead of relaxed.

“As you just pointed out, you don't need me to guard you,” he says, pushing himself up, the muscles in his stomach and arms flexing with the fluidity of the movement.

He moves closer to Tywin, fingers brushing over his before curling confidently around the wrist, drawing his hand up in a way that by now is familiar and easy when it shouldn't be. He tugs at his wrist and Tywin follows, only because he doesn't have to will to fight against it.

He curses himself and his weakness over this boy, wanting to see what Aegon intends to do next even though they both already know how this will end.

(There are only two ways: either with a knife to his throat if only to prove he _does_ need a guard, or with Aegon sprawled out in his bed with his legs spread for him. He also knows which one is more likely. Knows by the calm and determined expression on Aegon's face which it will be)

He slides onto Tywin's lap and closes what little distance there is between them. The distance becomes even smaller when he removes his robe, using the hand curled around Tywin's own to push it aside. It lands on the floor in a dark, swathing mass.

Grey eyes roaming over the exposed flesh.

Aegon leans over him, lifting himself up to work on Tywin's breeches with deft fingers.

“Do you trust me so much that you let me touch you so openly?” he asks, smirking faintly.

“You haven't given me a reason not to.”

That doesn't mean he trusts the boy in any other matters. He might have given his body to Tywin, but loyalty is different from sex and not something that can ever be given so freely. Tywin has sheathed his cock in him more often then Aegon has sheathed a sword, so their trust in the bedroom, and having Aegon's cock rise for him, is something else entirely.

“Do you think I would?”

Aegon pushes his hands against his chest, shifting to settle in Tywin's lap properly.

“Do you expect me to press a knife to your throat when you wake up?”

He is silent when Aegon takes hold of his hand again, guiding it to his waist to touch warm, bare skin. He relaxes his grip and withdraws, leaving Tywin's hand on his hipbone.

“Or do you expect me to do it with your cock in me?”

They've done this too often for the image to have any significant impact.

Tywin raises a brow at him.

“I would be a fool not to at least expect it.”

“Mm.”

Given the intimate setting it is morbid to talk about it the way they are, but neither of them are strangers to the darker aspects of their relationship. There are no lies, no strange allusions to versimilar truths, never anything other than what it really is. But it is still weak of him to let the other move him around like this, to let Aegon touch him and grope where he wants and where anyone could see the two of them together.

There are rumors of the guard that during the day follows along Tywin's shadow, but only rumors of people that simply think that the young man's position at his side must have been earned through abhorrent means. Aegon is strong and more loyal than his grandson's Dog, and he follows Tywin around everywhere, arrives at his beck and call and laughs at their rumors.

With how intently Aegon is staring at him, Tywin would think it is him that is being assessed. What exactly for remains to be seen.

Curious as it may be, it is a question for another time.

He remains rigid, refusing to let his weakness show, but the hand slipping under his breeches to take his flaccid cock in his hand brings the truth of his desire to bare. It's not enough to get him hard, but he still feels the warm shock of pleasure in his groin. He hates that this boy can do this to him so easily. Before him there was a period where Tywin didn't feel the vaguest idea of attraction for another person. And that was fine, because he simply didn't need it anymore.

He is all too aware that they're making such a display where anyone might see them or eavesdrop.

“Not here. Inside.”

A sharp look quiets Aegon's complaints, and the moment Tywin's other arm slides around the slender plane of his back, vice-like but strong, he laughs, letting himself be lifted and wrapping his legs around Tywin's waist.

He walks at a leisurely pace, before pressing Aegon up against a wall in his chambers, fingers sliding into his breeches to yank them open.

“Ah- even if I'm not your guard now, I don't know how I'm going to move around tomorrow.”

“You should have thought of that before you started to get lippy. This is what you absolute brat have signed up for,” he says, crushing the body beneath him against the wall.

It keeps Aegon's arm pinned between them. There's no room to breathe, much less to move. Aegon drops his chin down against Tywin's shoulder, lips pressed against his neck wetly. He is messy and sloppy in his excitement, but it's pleasant in the way he kisses him that Tywin can't help but feel flattered by.

He almost forgot how it feels like, to be touched like this.

Just like _she_ used to do, when he was still young and foolish and in love.

“I am neither a woman or a whore. If you think I'll be wearing your marks for all of court to see I suggest you think again.”

“Of course not,” Aegon laughs, the candles casting light onto his smile.

A smile Tywin soon tastes when instead of shying away Aegon kisses him.

The kiss is sloppy but purposeful, a tongue licking into Tywin's mouth with more enthusiasm than before as Aegon wiggles his hand between them to wrap around his cock. He stifles a moan.

“Open your mouth.”

“Don't bother -”

Tywin grabs him by his hair and shoves two fingers in his mouth, rubbing all the way down his tongue until Aegon gags and his fingers are coated well enough. It will keep him from getting hurt. The servants usually do not presume to provide such things like lubricant unless ordered.

This will have to do.

People's judgment on maturity is that as soon as you are able to pick up a sword you are old enough to kill people, so you should be old enough enough to take a cock without anyone complaining. Similar to him, Aegon hadn't been that old when he first experienced the pleasure of intercourse. He should be grateful that his first introduction to it was when he was already old enough to understand it, because most people aren't.

It's the best he could have hoped for.

His fingers slip out the boy's mouth with a wet _pop_ , tears having pooled in the corner of his eyes.

“Not entirely pointless.” He hugs him up higher around his waist and pushes a finger into him. “Tell me when you're ready.”

“ _Fuck_.”

His head falls onto Tywin's shoulder, groaning when the fingers thrust into him again, the slick sound loud in the quiet chamber. The movements cause his arse to brush over Tywin's erection, and he presses another finger in, listening to the breath catching in the other's throat when he presses up against his prostate.

With the addition of another finger Aegon's hips buck up into the vice of his fist. His eyes flutter. At his age, he manages to milk every drop from his cock and still be aroused, and Tywin hasn't even thought about how he is going to broach _that_ topic with him. He just hopes that two erections will be enough to sate Aegon's eagerness for one evening.

He's as well prepared for this now as he'll ever be.

Tywin presses his cock into the searing heat and bites back a groan at how good it feels, how tight the body under his is, how it stretches and wraps around him and welcomes him. How Aegon looks with his eyelids heavy and his erection Tywin had glimpsed earlier glossy and wet. How he sweeps a thumb over the come dripping down his cock to work himself to climax.

He loathes how much he enjoys this.

Aegon bites his shoulder against any noise, and Tywin thrusts into him deeper in petty retaliation. He will punish him properly for this next time, but for now he is satisfied to spear Aegon open, sliding his cock as deep as he can inside of his body so he will feel the ache for days.

They both have work to do tomorrow, but neither of them cares.

He buries a curse in Aegon's hair when his orgasm makes him shake and tighten, and Aegon only needs a couple of strokes to come over the edge himself, coming into his fist.

Tywin can feel semen dripping out of him around his cock, and winces at the mess he's going to have to clean up. The sight of Aegon licking his own seed off his fingers almost makes up for it. As does the flush on those pale cheeks.

“Are you going to be alright?”

He grins at Tywin, like it wasn't him that just got fucked open on Tywin's cock. His face contorts as he forces his breathing into a slow, even rhythm, lips parted around soft exhales that puff warm in the space between them.

“Careful, Aegon. And I'll be just fine.”

“Good.”

Tywin slides out of him and sees more semen drip down those pale thighs. Aegon is still young and messy, so this is to be expected, but the mess is something he will have to work on.

He retrieves a damp towel to wipe down Aegon's thighs, plying him with his fingers when he complains about the coolness of the towel, smoothing a hand down his bare side, the muscles there jumping beneath his fingers, twitching with exhaustion in the candlelight that allows both of them to see the room.

There are no soft kisses in the aftermath, no murmurs of devotion or praise against soft dark curls, or any other sounds from Aegon's lips Tywin loathes and relishes from him.

Aegon only leans his head back against the wall to look at him, and Tywin translates the look in his eyes plain and clear, and smiles.


	2. 2

Oberyn Martell is watching him and Aegon tries to think nothing of it.

He can feel Oberyn's eyes on him, somehow omnipresent in his mind. Aegon still hasn't looked at him, and after a few minutes he decides it's not relevant.

He can feel several eyes checking him out.

Good for them. They want to see if Tywin Lannister's guard is as beautiful and arresting as the rumors claim.

Aegon himself remains where Tywin has put him, standing at his side proud and formal, wearing the clothes Tywin had given him that Aegon hates more than all the others he was forced to wear. A pale, cream-colored shirt that doesn't look like it was ever meant to be white, with masterly stitched grand lions sitting stoic in the center of his chest in Lannister gold. They shimmer lively when he moves, drawing attention Aegon isn't unused to but doesn't enjoy either.

It's also an obvious brand of ownership. So anyone who looks at him will know who he belongs to.

Aegon knows who it is meant for.

Oberyn with his dark hair and stubble and his yellow robes catches his eyes over the crowd, and dimly Aegon wonders if he recognizes Elia's son.

He knows he doesn't look like her, and Aegon always feels bitter when someone points it out to him.

Oberyn looks at him like he's already dead and Aegon refuses to budge from Tywin's side. But his hands still curl into fists. Oberyn sees and misinterprets the move for dismissal, which is fine.

He is beyond being affected by the ghosts from his past.

“It's been a long time since we last met, child. You and your sister.”

Olenna Tyrell moves into Aegon's field of vision.

“And to think it came to this-” she shakes her head at him, and Aegon would really believe she cares if he didn't know better. “I truly do pity you.”

He can feel Tywin's eyes on him like the tip of a knife against his throat. _Are you worried_? He wants to say, just to see the reaction he would get from him.

They're standing within earshot of Tywin and the Cersei, but the queen seems too busy glaring murder at Margey to pay any attention to their conversation.

Aegon stands very still, not sure what he should say, not sure if he should say anything.

“I thought we might share a drink, to look less conspicuous, of course.”

“I'll pass,” he declines as soon as she hold out a cup to him. “It's the duty of a guard to protect his lord, and I would be amiss in my duty -”

“Nonsense, child. 'Your Lord' has all the protection he needs, don't you worry your head about it.”

He sighs and accepts the cup but doesn't move to drink from it.

Olenna is as ruthless as cunning. Where everyone else avoids looking at him, Olenna's eyes are calculating. Aegon can appreciate that about her.

 _It's also obvious what she wants_ , his mind supplies helpfully. But, he thinks, she's never exactly _not_ been obvious about what she wants. Nevermind that Aegon already knows that half of her act is to piss people off.

“So it's true,” she says after a moment. “That cunning old man somehow managed to win over the only Targaryen to his side. And after _that_ tragedy as well ...”

“You forget I'm not the only one,” he replies, because it's true.

Absently, he thinks of a girl with silver hair and violet eyes like him a hundred thousand miles across the sea.

She's going to become an enemy someday and Aegon knows it. Maybe she's prettier or maybe she looks just like him, or maybe she looks just like Aerys the same way Aegon looks just like Rheagar, or maybe they all look the same. If the drawings in the history books can be believed all of the Targaryens look identical, violet eyes and pale hair and sharp smiles.

“Yes. Aerys Targaryen's child,” she says eventually. “The world is better off without that disgusting man and his children.”

Aegon has heard this before. How horrible Aerys Targaryen was and all the unspeakable acts he committed. When in reality it was an example of how people refused to do something about it. The same way no one ever did anything about his family's murder, or Ned Stark's execution, or the massacre of thousands of northmen, or anything.

It's the hypocrisy of it all that's really disgusting.

“The Targaryen curse seems to hold truth to it. Monsters can breed only monsters.”

For a moment he wants to ask what his sister did to deserve being murdered. How does it work when a monster is born from a human? And what about Rhaegar. Was he a monster then? Are all Targaryens from the beginning? How does he fit in with all of this then?

His eyes narrow and she seems to catch up on his thoughts, putting a placating hand on his shoulder.

“You seem to be a different case,” she says, and it's all just lies, one on another to soothe him.

“I remember hearing about your family's murder. And after I heard you were alive I thought 'what a poor boy. What kind of childhood could a child like this possible have?'”

There is no lie Aegon can see, only the truth that she means it. Her eyes get softer around the edges when she looks at him. He doesn't meet her face.

No one has ever looked at him with such pity.

It seems for a moment like she's expecting something more from him, but there is nothing else to add.

*

He stands by the door of Tywin's private rooms, staring at a spot on the wall.

Tywin has been arguing with his son (not the one awaiting execution) for several minutes, his voice climbing higher towards an authoritative pitch that registers only somewhere in the back of Aegon's mind.

He would prefer a battlefield over this.

Following extensive debate, largely between Tywin and the Kingslayer, they haven't been able to reach a conclusion regarding to what to do with the imp. Reluctantly, Tywin had conceded to allowing the Kingslayer to see him, but that's the farthest they managed to get so far.

The Kingslayer had already expressed his opinion on Tywin's method of dealing with all of this, with Tyrion. After all it’s a well known fact that Tywin doesn't hold any affection for him.

“I won't hear any more of this.”

Aegon can hear Tywin sigh and bows his head lower at the sound of footsteps against stone, smooth and measured in a way that says the owner isn't used to or simply doesn't bother to with stealth. The Kingslayer doesn't seem to care about Aegon's presence in Tywin's chambers. He just offers him a simple nod in acknowledgment and exits.

Aegon knows the moment that he is alone with Tywin.

“Come. We don't have all night.”

The tone of his voice leaves little room for argument.

The alleys of the city are dark and filthy. Not that Aegon is worried. He follows him in silence without ever asking where they’re going. It's obvious that wherever it is Tywin wants him there with him, whether it is as his guard or something else. They walk down a dark street, the buildings around them fading into black nothing.

The building they enter is populated with Lannister soldiers just about to go on duty or just coming off of it. They flinch when Tywin steps into the parlor and avoid their eyes from Aegon at his side despite how innocuous he looks in his simple black tunic and dark trousers. The whores they pass on their way give him appreciative glances and quickly drop their eyes as well.

He ignores them and follows Tywin through a plain door. Aegon surveys the room and sees the head of dark hair they probably came here seeking and glances uncertainty at him.

“Lord Tywin!” Oberyn's voice is bright and warm and welcoming, everything Aegon is unused to.

He's not alone either. Aegon's attention focuses on the other man in the room instantly. The young man sits reclined on the edge of Oberyn's bed with him, naked and smiling. Oberyn sends him away and focuses his attention on Tywin.

Thankfully he is still in his breeches.

Most men Aegon has ever met have held a low opinion of buggering. He knows the act is discouraged among notables, but he's heard stories, some told by Tywin himself of soldiers on the road who killed each other out of jealousy or from rejection. Even the most battle experienced soldiers could be drawn to a beautiful face or pale limbs, but those acts always happened inside tents.

“Prince Oberyn,” Tywin answers after a beat, inclining his head. “I trust you’ve been enjoying your stay.”

“Not in the least,” Oberyn says.

Aegon surveys his surroundings. It's comfortable enough for a royal prince's quarters. There's a full tankard of expensive, golden liquid sitting on the table. Oberyn is on his feet, grinning at him, and Aegon has to force himself not to falter in the face of it.

“Nephew.” He takes a mouthful of wine and smiles faintly. “You look better than I had expected.”

Aegon doesn't say anything.

He realizes he knows exactly why Tywin wanted him here with him.

He keeps his emotions tightly behind an emotionless exterior, inclining his head politely and murmurs, “What were you expecting?”

“A ghost. You look more alive than I was expecting.”

Aegon notices he doesn't quite manage to keep the fondness out of his voice. His eyes are warm. Aegon has forgotten how it feels to be watched with fondness. A lost cause, because he has spent years at Tywin's side.

“Reality often falls short of our expectations.”

That fond look is gone now. Oberyn is watching him with an odd expression, one he can't read. Not anything negative, which is surprising, but contemplative. The look doesn't waver as he strides over to to offer him and Tywin a drink.

“No thank you.”

“Come now, Lord Tywin,” he smiles with his mouth curling in dark amusement, sitting on the edge of his bedding. “I just invited you into my chambers, do you really think I would sink so low as to poison my own nephew?”

Laughter follows his statement, like the suggestion of it is ridiculous and well out of his moral character.

“I suppose it depends on how we justify the need to 'sink low',” Tywin answers.

Oberyn doesn't speak for a while, and when he does his voice carries an edge.

“You really think I would harm Elia's child? My sister's?”

The idea seems to produce more of a reaction from him than anything else that's been said so far. Aegon momentarily feels a flicker of resentment for Tywin, with bitterness following it. For him to force Aegon to stand in front of the only person that should mean anything to him, when he had also taken the other two away from him. Aegon tells himself it's at least part of the reason why he is here right now, and the fact that Tywin is unarmed for an attack and Aegon is his guard. But he knows better than that.

“You should know the only two people I would like to see dead.”

Aegon registers the movement and on instinct his fist tightened in a vice-grip on the handle of the knife at his hip. He doesn't draw it, simply tightens his fingers at Oberyn's pause.

“Killing him won’t bring your sister back.”

“ 'My sister' ?” Oberyn says. “She was your mother. And your sister, the Mountain murdered both of them on his orders. He raped Elia and murdered her child.”

Something angry festers in his chest. What does Oberyn think of him, really, that he thinks Aegon doesn’t already know all this? Does he think Aegon has reconciled with his family's murder and moved on?

He clenches his teeth in disgust. He doesn't move and he doesn't say anything, but his hand relaxes its grip. Oberyn wants to kill Tywin for Elia's murder, he wants to make him suffer and bleed for Aegon’s sister, and he wants justice he will never get. It’s exactly what Aegon himself should want.

“You do a very good impression of a lion,” Oberyn says then.

For the rest of the entire evening his words stay in Aegon’s his mind.


End file.
